On the return trip he rode hard, pressing the mules and stopping only twice. From a distance he heard Mike's bark, and he advanced cautiously. Tad did have the rifle, and Joe had no wish to resemble, however remotely, a prowling Indian. Then he heard, "It's Pa! Pa's come back!" Joe threw caution to the winds and rode openly, and now his weariness seemed in some magic fashion to evaporate. He had been very worried about Emma and the youngsters; in his mind they had been the victims of raiding Indians, one or all of the younger children had fallen into the river and drowned, one of the great white bears had raided them, they hadn't known how to start a fire and thus were cold; these and a dozen other disasters had overtaken them. To know that none of his fears was realized drove worry from his mind and furnished complete relief. He wondered at Tad as he put the mules to a trot. Back in Missouri, given a rifle and told to stand guard, Tad might have shot at anything, including noises, that startled him. Obviously the Oregon Trail, and perhaps the spanking Joe had given him, had taught the youngster much that he needed to know. Joe saw the wagon and his wife and son, and he called, "Hi!" "Hello, Joe!" Emma's greeting was a glad one, and her voice revealed none of the terror she had endured. Lithe as a fawn, lovely even though she was dressed in cumbersome garments, Barbara leaped from the wagon and waved excitedly, "Hello, Daddy!" "Hi, Bobby!" Joe rode up to the wagon and halted his mules. He looked down at Tad. "Everything was all right, huh?" "Yeah. Nothin' came." Joe laughed. "You never have luck, do you?" He looked at Emma, and saw in her eyes everything that she had not put into words. Traces of terror and loneliness lingered there, and he knew that she had prayed for him. But happiness because he had finally come back was driving the rest away as surely as the rising sun dispels morning mist. "Have you had breakfast?" Emma inquired. "Yup. Had a snack down the trail a ways." "But you're in here almost before daylight. I'll fix something for you." Emma built up her fire and put water over to boil for coffee. She made her spider--a skillet with legs--ready and laid three eggs beside it. Joe looked concernedly at them. "Better save those for the kids, hadn't you?" "The children aren't lacking anything and I have eight more eggs. Every hen but one has laid every day." "They must like wagon life." He winked solemnly at her. "I'm sure they do," she replied, dimpling. "It's a good life--for chickens." The children looked up at the sound of their parents' hearty, soul-easing laughter.